


A golden link

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, completely self indulgent, i just wanted to use the body chain for something ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: One thing is to go see your boyfriend DJ surrounded by a crowd of complete strangers, but this...Yuri needs to get away, and tugging and the slim piece of jewelry hanging from his waist, he has quite a vivid plan in his mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [ Blackmountainbones ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones) who's always there for me to edit and correct and beta my stuff. she's kind of my AO3 big sister at this point :v So if this looks good, thank her. If it doesn't, scold me. That's how it works. 
> 
> Anyways, not an important part of the series, just a smutty filler. Enjoy!

“Are you out of your  _ mind?!” _

The people at the diner are starting to stare at the really loud table; it’s surprising that three people can cause such a racket. Well, one of the three, really: a particularly loud, angry blond currently sputtering out insults in two different languages just so his point come across clear enough. “I am  _ not _ taking you both old embarrassing drunken idiots to the club with me! There’s no way!”

“Come  _ on _ , Yurio! It’ll be fuuun.” Viktor hums in a stupidly childish manner and Yuri needs to fight the urge to crawl onto the table and strangle him right there. “We’ve never seen him at work, you know?”

Yuri glares at the brunette practically hiding behind his husband, clutching the edge of the table to not jump on it and bang both their heads together to put some sense into them. “Katsudon,  _ say something!” _

“Um… I mean,” Katsuki jumps at the mention and starts visibly trembling, looking for the right words. “I’d like to know how he is with you in a…” he fidgets and looks down to avoid the murderous gaze of the blond, “ _ more familiar _ situation than at a restaurant.”

Yuri has to swallow down a high screech, yet he can’t hide the terror in his face. “More familiar?!”  He takes his hands to his hair, using all his self control  _ not _ to pull it out in despair. “It’s a  _ club!” _ He points at them, without noticing he’s stood up at some point during his fit. “You’ll be  _ drinking!” _

“We’ll be nice, Yurio-” Viktor tries to wave the boy’s obvious discomfort away. As if it could only be so easy.

“You'll be fondling each other, and loud and gross and  _ naked,” _  Yuri adds, scrunching up his nose to make his point clear enough. He’s not willing to be kicked out because of an exhibitionist and a dirty dancer. Not that he wouldn’t post the whole shit on Instagram if they even  _ dare _ to get that stupidly drunk, and he knows they will. 

Viktor was loud enough sober, yet drunk he only got worse. Who knew what he would say, or even fucking ask, out loud and to everyone who’s there to listen? And shit, gossip on a famous athlete, even though on a not-so-renowned sport, in a club full of people? There will be a lot of ears ready to listen to him babbling. Even to start threading some crazy theories with him: Angels are everywhere, after all. And Yuri can’t risk it. 

Yet, like it or not, he just  _ knows _ the couple will find a way to be there.  Yuri's not even sure Katsudon will even try to convince his husband otherwise, after all, the gay wonder couple of ice skating has their own contacts . Fuck being a living legend. 

Yuri walks away from them, putting on his best scowl and stomping along. Viktor and Yuuri won’t follow--they might yell at him, and that they do, but not follow. They know better than to step too close to him right now.

 

He needs them to stay away. He needs the privacy to come up with a way to stop them from doing something so terrible it could stain any of their careers for good. Because, in spite of all, he actually likes the annoying idiots enough to not have them publicly shamed on the media. Yuri’s not  _ that much _ of an asshole. 

 

He only knows of one person that always seems to be two steps ahead of media scandals, though. The one that has always stayed out of it all. Surprisingly, too, knowing how much dirt sensationalist reporters could get out of his past. 

 

> _ gross couple coming. Need a escape pod _

 

Let’s just hope Otabek actually knows what to do.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s still leaning against a wall on the corridor to the restrooms, partially hidden in a shadowed corner. Good thing that place is never well lit; there were too many couples close-to-fucking against the walls, too many people crouching on the floor drunk off of their asses, to notice a slender blond idiot, tugging at his choice of a shirt nervously. Fucking Misfits crop top he adores but is still too embarrassed to go out in. Fucking too-tight leather jeans with a stripe of leopard print on either side so he can feel like he’s in the fucking spotlight the minute he gets onto the dancefloor. Yuri bites his lip and tastes the caramel scented lip gloss he borrowed from Mila and never bothered to return. He scolds himself for believing that he could actually deal with the attention his outfit could bring to him, a slightly too alluring, too delicate figure swaying under the flickering lights, with Viktor in the fucking room. At a fucking VIP table, where Otabek put him along with the idiot’s husband, just to keep them away from prying eyes and ears. Clever, sure, but then again, Yuri will have no place to run from their comments. About clothing. About his heavy smokey eyes and obviously glossy lips. 

About the slender chain that falls from around his neck to his bellybutton and separates into three threads of metal at either side of his hips to join back on his back and up. Yuri had had a whole plan about this night, a whole outfit thought out with that idea in mind; but with Viktor and Yuuri watching over his shoulder? It just doesn’t work anymore.

And he’s panicking too much to get out there. 

What if they actually  _ say something about it? What if they ask? _

He practically jumps all the way into the ceiling when he feels a hand brushing along the length of his hair, let loose and wild behind him. He’s about to bring whatever fucker decided to crawl up on him like that, fist up and ready, when he sees her. 

“Calm down, іні. It’s just me.” He can barely decipher Aika’s figure on the shadows, yet her voice he could recognize anywhere at this point. And the іні, little brother, spoken fondly into his ear, over the loud bass bouncing on the walls, made it even easier. “Afraid of coming out?”

The wording is the first thing that startles him. Coming out? They know he has a boyfriend already, what’s there to show? That he has never been with anyone else, like Otabek has? That he hasn’t even-

“Is it too much?” Yuri tugs on one of the chains resting at his sides, self conscious. Maybe he’s overdone it. He could just take it off, put the jacket back on and close it, And that would be it: he’d have a few drinks, wait for Otabek to come down and drive him back home, call it a night… 

He feels a hand on his shoulder tracing back, a finger twirling the chain around itself. “You look beautiful. Badass.” She tugs on the chain to make him lean back, closer to her. “You  _ are _ beautiful. And tough as nails.” She lets the chain go to put a hand flat on his lower back, “Now go out there and show my baby brother what he’s missing while he plays with his turntables.” 

Yuri whips his hair out of his face, lifting his chin up-she’s right, he doesn’t need to hide himself from anyone. No one would dare disrespect the likes of him. Not if they’re planning on getting back home in one piece. He ruffles his own hair, letting most of it fall to a side and putting on his best scowl before striding towards the VIP table. Mila turns and waves as he approaches, of course; a sudden quirk of her brow lets him know she’s recognized the gloss. Big deal: he’s not giving it back anyways. It drove Otabek crazy. He feels a tug when he tries to crawl on the booth next to Mila: a hand on the chain on his hip. 

“Um, Yurio…?” Katsuki, glassy eyed already, stares at him like a rabbit blinded by bright headlights, “you look…. Wow.” He licks his lips and Yuri just tilts his head at him, scoffing. What the fuck is wrong with him? “You look stunning.” He lets his hand slide through the chain and finally fall back to his seat. Yuri hesitates but says nothing. And to think at some point he kind of liked the guy, when he gets so easily flustered by a bit of skin showing? Yuri sits down and finally glances at the table. And the four empty litre-sized bottles on it. Ok, maybe a bit of skin and a good amount of booze. The ‘fashionably late’ idea might have cost him the free drinks. Damn it. 

“You do look… like something else tonight, Yurio,” Viktor adds, eyes wide but a cheeky grin on his face. Which is never a good combination. Something starts to tremble inside of Yuri, a little seed of doubt. That question he’s been waiting for. The one he cannot answer. He’s been sassy before, trying to play the big boy card; he just hoped Viktor hasn’t seen the loophole on his silly jokes. But he’s a clever one: he knows how to read Yuri openly. “Kind of…  bit of a vixen , don’t you think?” 

Katsuki looks at his husband like a confused puppy, crooking his head almost all the way to the side. Yuri just hisses through his teeth. One thing is calling him attractive; it’s not bad, it was kind of the intention actually. A different one is calling him pretty, delicate enough for him to get the right to punch Viktor, according to his book. But  _ that _ ? Calling him openly girly is way out of line. Yet he doesn’t even have time to speak his mind, when the man strikes again. “I mean, you surely were expecting something with this outfit, didn’t you?” Yuri grits his teeth but can’t make one word come out of his mouth. And he  _ knows _ why Viktor’s doing it: sure, a bit of jealousy could be in the mix, but this is solely to humiliate Yuri. He’s sure of it. He’s even more certain every time the man opens his mouth again. “I mean, that chain  _ screams  _ submis-” 

Yuri’s about to take matters into his own hands with one knee already on the table, halfway to strangling the loudmouthed idiot, when two hands that are far too heavy be as dainty as they are, plop heavily on Viktor’s shoulders. “I think our boy will need a drink, don’t you?” Aika tilts her head barely a bit to let Viktor see her, her dark hair cascading onto his shoulder as she stands right behind him. “Since we’re discussing personal affairs of him without his approval? Or, better yet, behind his back?” Viktor just puts on his best stiff smile, one that does nothing to cover up the curiosity in his eyes. “And while I’m on it, I could just bring that  _ enormous _ bartender, who just happens to be a close friend of mine, over if I need to.” She gestures at the bar, and the high mohawked shadow looming over pretty much every customer on the other side. “So...” Aika squeezes Viktor’s shoulders; he winces. “Do I need to?” Viktor raises his hands up as a symbol of surrender, without even glancing at Yuri; she takes it, patting on the man’s shoulder. “Good. I’ll be right back.”

Yuri takes a seat next to Mila as Aika leaves, and tugs slightly on his shirt. He stops the moment Mila winks at him and nudges on his arm; he knows it’s her way of saying he looks good enough. Katsuki, on the other hand, is still staring dumbfounded at him. Or he might be staring at the wall behind him. Either way, he’s half gone already, steadying himself by gripping Viktor’s arm in order to not fall face first onto the table. 

Viktor waits for him to lean back onto his seat and props his legs up on the table, scoffing, to chuckle and speak again. “So, what was all that about?”

“She’s protecting her baby boy, you see.” Mila chimes in before Yuri can figure out what is he talking about through the whole number of subjects he could touch. Luckily, and for once, it seems like Viktor went for the safest one. 

“Oh?” He glances at Yuri, who just scowls and taps his fingers on the table. “You mean my-?”

“No, silly.” Mila chuckles, “That one.” She points with her thumb at the figure dancing and gleaming in the light behind her back. Three steps up, in the DJ booth, with Otabek fucking Altin moving like he was born and raised on the dancefloor. The streams of color swirling around the discoloured black of his too tight jeans, almost following the sway of his hips; the white tank top barely covering any skin at his sides and back, almost shining under the blacklight.... That seductive roll of Otabek’s shoulders is almost painfully alluring, his hand running through the few strands of hair that refuse to stay in place, draped over one side of his head, his little bike chain bracelet twinkling with every twist of his wrist, clashing with the white leopard printed headphones around his neck. The headphones Yuri has given him for his birthday. Something inside Yuri starts fluttering, a subtle warmth spreading from his belly to his whole body and dusting his cheeks pink. He tries to focus on that and not on his own throat going dry, his eyes following every twitch of Otabek’s muscles, hardly covered by that fucking shirt, Yuri’s own hands clutch the chain around his body and twist it absentmindedly over his knuckles to distract from the throbbing pulse in his leggings. He puts his feet down: there’s one thing crop tops are not good for and that’s for hiding boners when your pants don’t help the case.

“Wow.” Viktor starts and Yuri raises an eyebrow at him: there’s really no point, seeing as he’s also staring at the DJ, completely immersed in his own world. “He’s powerful on the ice, but off…” He lets out a lewd whistle and this time Otabek turns around. Even though Yuri is certain there’s no way he could have heard that over the music and the people laughing and screaming in the dance floor, Otabek makes eye contact with Viktor, then Yuri, then winks before going back to his turntables. Yuri takes advantage of the brief moment in which Mila is too distracted watching the DJ going back to his bubble, dancing as if no one was around, to push the heel of his hand against his crotch, to calm down the ache. He’d go up and fuck his boyfriend right over the console if he could. But fucking Viktor and his fucking Katsudon have to be there. He almost forgets Viktor was talking a second ago, “Off the ice he’s fascinating.” 

“OI!” Yuri’s about to protest when he sees a change on the sparkle in Viktor’s eyes, and looks back to the booth. There’s a smirk on Otabek’s usually cold face. And that can never be good, not with so many people around. Not with  _ these  _ people around. The music transitions rather abruptly to something with a slow pace, a soft bass, and a clear voice. 

_ Innocent child, how you thought you knew me… _

He feels the tune penetrating through his skin, making every hair on his body bristle: he can picture Otabek singing it into his ear, for some reason, and licks his lips as a reflex, biting slightly in the process. 

[ _ I want the kill, the conquest, to be your master.. _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y886cRT9gTQ)

Shit. Yuri’s mind starts wandering into thousand different scenarios in which he could be teased, licked, bitten, and fucked out of his mind, scenarios in which Otabek would make him beg for it, make him come under his command. Scenarios in which Yuri would be entirely at his boyfriend’s mercy. He tries to hide the lust in his eyes and the flush on his face as he stares back around the table: Aika has just come around with a new chilled bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses, sitting right next to Mila. Who, by the way, is trying to swallow down her words and not tell the girl how insanely hot her brother looks today. Specially because of his particular choice of music. She doesn’t need to say anything for Yuri to guess exactly the kind of perverted thoughts she guards behind her “nice girl” persona. Viktor lets out a little frown, scrunching of his nose and pouting his lips, before Katsudon drapes himself pretty much all over Viktor to kiss him as sloppy and gross and he possibly can. 

Yuri takes the bottle and one of the glasses, ready to pour himself a drink, when he glances up. White lights frame the toned curve of Otabek’s legs, making the way he’s twisting his hips look like slow motion.  _ As if _ Yuri needed yet another reason to want to run from this VIP table. 

Yet Yuri doesn’t stop staring, which he notices when he pours vodka onto his own hand after missing the glass. Yuri scoffs. He’s gonna have a drink anyways, free or not. Glass or not. Beka dances like the world belongs to him and it’s making Yuri want to drop on his knees for him. He takes along gulp right from the bottle, and this time he sees Otabek glance at him without taking his hands off the console. 

Otabek crooks his brow and turns to gesture at someone for… something. Yuri can’t guess exactly what he’s telling whoever the fuck that other person is, but he does notice Otabek take his headphones off to give them away. And turns to the stairs. 

Yuri’s heart is racing like crazy, his throat still burning with straight up vodka shot right down, as if Yuri has ever done that before. Which he hasn’t. Stupid, stupid idea. He shoots up of his seat, letting a hand ruffle his hair while the other still finds comfort in the coolness of the bottle that for some reason he has yet to let go of. Funny, he’s barely drunk anything tonight, but seeing Otabek dance has intoxicated him, making Yuri feel powerful, daring. Making him want to bite and scratch every little bit of uncovered skin so the world knows Otabek is his and his alone. 

He tugs the seam of his top one more time before lifting up his gaze to find a stunned looking Otabek Altin standing before him. His thumbs are stuck in his belt loops, fingertips drumming against his thighs, his tongue brushing his lower lip slowly--Yuri’s sure he can hear the piercing clinking against Otabek’s teeth even over all the noise. There’s a feral look in his eyes, like a predator ready to pounce. Yuri hears Viktor’s voice but can’t understand the words, doesn’t care enough to ask: instead he lets Otabek get a hold of the chain hanging at his chest to pull him close enough for Yuri to taste the Rum and Coke on his breath. Foreheads touching, Otabek lifts his hand up slowly, link by link, while the other one runs from the front of Yuri’s waistband all the way to the back to let a thumb fit in between the tight fabric and the warm skin, shivering at the touch. The world outside seems to vanish for them both: they are lost in each other’s eyes, in the gentle caress of Yuri’s hands behind Otabek’s neck and the soft tug of Yuri’s chain around his neck as if to remind him it’s there, and Otabek can do what he pleases with it. With  _ him. _ He licks his lower lip expectantly, pouting in the way he knows drives Otabek mad. 

“Are you at least going to say hello?” Viktor’s mock sadness and high pitched tone wakes Yuri from the trance, yet even then Otabek keeps on drinking all of him in, without even glancing at the table. 

“Beka,” Yuri whispers quietly to him, yet it sounds more like a whimper. Otabek represses whatever he was going to say as he knows it will be too much for curious ears to hear. They might find a way even through all of the racket, they always find a way. 

“I have to go back,” Otabek talks loud for them to hear, yet his gaze never leaves Yuri: his deep green pleading eyes, his lips glistening under the light, the soft curve of his neck, the silver sparkle around it. “Backstage. There’s something I… I left.” He stutters for some reason and it doesn’t quite go unnoticed.

“Well, okay. We’ll keep your Yuri company.” Viktor adds, to make Yuri stay. Without noticing the hand still holding firmly Yuri’s chain as if it were a leash. Or maybe noticing it too much. 

There are a good few ways to answer that.  _ I need him with me for something. _ Or  _ I could use the hellp.  _ Or… whatever, anything. Yuri’s not in his sharpest moment either, even pretty sober, but Otabek’s simple answer still stunned him. “No.”

“What?” 

“No.” He repeats, and opens and closes his mouth, tempted to kiss Yuri once and for all, but it’s not the right time. Not yet. He leans in, the scent of the boy’s flavoured lip gloss making him grunt on Yuri’s ear. “You’re coming with me.” 

Yuri doesn’t answer, he just nods, and allows Otabek to tug of his chain, guiding him to the back room behind the stage. He doesn’t listen to Viktor practically screeching from his place on the table, or the girls calming him down, keeping him put. 

He doesn’t feel weird, about being led through the crowd by a chain around his neck, at a bit too eager pace. He doesn’t _ feel  _ out of place. 

Yuri can’t possibly think about it now, not when he’s too busy watching Otabek walk in front of him, the silver thread of light joining them both forcing him to step up and across a doorway. 

His back clashes against the closed door as he’s shoved against it; the cold of the chain on his bare back sends shivers down his spine and meeting the feverish touch of firm hands on his shoulders. Finally, Otabek kisses him after what has felt like forever and Yuri can sense a spark in between their lips,a spark that travels through every inch of his body. His hand reaches out to tangle itself in Otabek’s hair, tugging slightly just to hear that beautiful growl that Yuri has missed so much. He can’t help the moan escaping him as Otabek deepens the kiss, letting his tongue taste the sweet gloss in his mouth, his teeth against Yuri’s lower lip just a bit too harsh. He pulls back to see Yuri panting, leaning against a wall for support, hair made a mess and his lips bitten red. 

“Talk to me, Kitten,” Otabek hisses and Yuri squirms under his grasp, only wanting to feel him closer. Yet he puts down his hands instead of bringing the older boy to him, palms flat against the door. 

“I want you,” Yuri whines, pushing himself barely forward and to his lips again, to prove his point. That predatory stare on Otabek’s eyes hasn’t faded, but he’s still in control of his impulses and it’s driving Yuri crazy.Yuri wants him, and as thirsty as he is, Otabek is just as lustful, just as willing. 

Yet Otabek chuckles the second Yuri parts from him. “I noticed that.” And moves a hand slowly, a finger tracing the line of his collarbone to tug at his chain. “Mind being more specific?”

He’s too in control of himself. Even though as Otabek squeezes his shoulder casually, clutches the flimsy fabric on Yuri’s chest with desperate hands; he stares at Yuri as if he’s  _ starving _ and Yuri’s body is the only food on Earth _. _ Yuri will have to take care of that.

“Come.” Otabek licks his lips and clicks his tongue, expecting a reaction. His hands move from Yuri’s body to the door and Otabek leans on him to brush his lips against Yuri’s so delicately he’s not exactly sure if they actually touched. Yuri could just take his hands away from the wall to bring Otabek closer himself. Or he could go with his second thought: he pulls a leg up and around Otabek waist to push him forward, forcing him to lean on his hands while Yuri grinds against his hard-on, already noticeable through the skinny jeans. He kisses him again, hard, his tongue darting in and out of Otabek’s mouth, swallowing down the groans he pulls out of him, suddenly so achingly aware of the heat of Otabek’s frame against his naked skin. Otabek runs his fingers through the length of Yuri’s golden locks and up, tugging at the base, making his head hit the door behind him.  He wants an answer, his stoic façade all but crumbled down under the rising pressure of desire. 

“I want you inside of me.” Yuri purrs against Otabek’s lips. He can see the shock in the older boy’s eyes; they’ve never really talked about it, but that isn’t enough to stop him. He tilts his head up to let Otabek brushes his tongue flat from his collarbone and slowly up, to his lobe to gnaw at it.

“Are you sure, Yura?”

He can only nod before his whole body jolts and shivers at the rough touch of Otabek’s hands going down from his hair, his neck, his chest. He moans loudly when the fingers press and scratch a path around the crease of his abs and along the lines of his hip bones, when they trace the thin blond streak going straight down and a sneaky index finger claws and hooks the waistband of his leggings, threatening to push it down but only snapping it against Yuri’s skin. Otabek takes hold of the chains resting on the blond’s hips and janks him away from the door, throwing him knee-first onto a couch that extends all the way against the wall. Yuri sits up to glance around him through the mirror, taking up the wall from door to corner. The backstage room is really more of a glorified hallway, cramped and slender: only a tattered stained couch on one side, a wall length shelf on the other, both crowned with a mirror, whose reflection makes the room look bigger than it actually is. There’s a bar set up at the opposite side of the door, which didn’t seem to have any sort of lock at all. Or any sort of security. Nothing that could keep other people away. Yuri starts squirming, fidgeting against the chain when his eyes meet Otabek’s in the mirror. He’s got his jacket in his hands, which he promptly tosses away to the other side of the room. 

He sees the man coming closer to lean one hand at either side of his shoulders, on the seat’s back, pressing himself against his body. “Are you alright with this, Yura?” He whispers on his ear, and Yuri would whimper even if he would just tell him the sky is blue or something. Anything Otabek does like this, his erection showing through his jeans and pressed against Yuri’s lower back, throbbing through the clothing, could destroy the last trace of Yuri’s common sense.  

Even the part of his brain telling him that there’s virtually nothing separating them from the crowd dancing outside, which is completely unaware. If anything, the idea just makes Yuri put his hands against the mirror to sit up and rub his ass against Otabek. “Please.”

He savours the growl on his ear, and lets Otabek push his hands hardly down against the aged upholstery. Otabek stares straight into the mirror and bites hard on Yuri’s neck while he holds him down, then pulls off to reveal the bright mark sucked onto the pale skin. His voice deepens before he speaks, taking in Yuri’s little whine and squirm against him. “Stay quiet, Kitten. They might hear you.” 

Yes, they might- and Yuri bites his lip at the thought, grinding himself against Otabek just to feel him throb against the hard fabric, unable to touch himself. Yet he’s released when the hands holding him move from his own, winding through his arms delicately, to reach his back and pull on the silver chain with one hand steady on his back while the other fists around his hair to pull hard, forcing him to look up.

“Keep your eyes open.” Otabek’s voice sounds like sheer lust. Yuri knows he’ll dream of that tone for a long time. He feels a breath against his back, hot and jagged and  _ so far away still _ : “You’re too beautiful to be ignored.” There’s a kiss, right against the collar of his top, then one more against his spine and going down, moist and Yuri know it should be gross, but it only makes him meowl pathetically, arching his back to ask for more. Otabek delivers.

The hand on his back spreads flat, slowly following the rhythm of Otabek’s kisses against his skin; it holds him by his waist, caressing his hips softly as Otabek sneaks two fingers under his waistband. Yuri sees Otabek holding his gaze as if asking a silent question but he doesn’t even need to speak: before Yuri bucks his hips forward. The leggings (still hooked on Otabek’s fingers) slide over his hips. The hand on his hair releases its hold to join the other at his side, letting his pants and underwear fall to his knees. Yuri’s breath hitches and his hair bristles with anticipation as Otabek kneads and squeezes his flesh as his lips trace the curve of Yuri’s ass with soft, damp kisses. Yuri feels fingers softly brushing against his skin, cupping his cheeks to spread him open: there’s the warmth of Otabek’s breath so close to him, his tongue barely tickling his balls. A jolt runs up Yuri’s spine, making him push forward involuntarily. 

He wants all of him, every little touch and kiss, every little embarrassing sound Otabek can pull out of him, Yuri wants it all. “Please, Beka.” He whimpers and arches his back to look at himself in the mirror. Otabek’s hands grip tight on his thighs, forcing him to spread his legs. He grips the fabric under his fingers hard, breathing through his clenched teeth to stop himself from moaning out loud when he feels Otabek’s tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh to trace softly around his rim. Yuri responds to every ministration, hissing and purring Otabek’s name more loudly than he notices as he rocks on his knees to deepen the contact. There’s a hand now pressed against the glass, his own cock leaking and aching for release. He knows Otabek will stop the second he moves his hands from the couch; he cannot have that. Not right now. There’s a special sort of static around him, as if every little breeze, every touch would set him ablaze as Otabek darts his tongue forward and into him, extracting a loud indecent whimper from him. There’s a pulse burning and pushing inside of him, begging him to keep going, to move forward, to be taken whole once and for all. 

Yuri tries to let the words, to speak his mind, but only lewd moans come out of him; still, he spreads his legs wider, pulls his hips higher. And Otabek gets the memo. He pulls away and stands again, hands firmly holding Yuri’s legs, then hips, then waist, while he traces every crease of his spine with his tongue, pressing the metal piercing barely against his skin, savouring the way Yuri squirms at the touch. 

“What will it be, Kitten?” Otabek murmurs into Yuri’s ear; his shirt already discarded somewhere along the way and his frame, febrile and slick with sweat, pressed against Yuri’s back. Yuri turns his head to lick Otabek’s lips,  his gaze heavy with lust. Otabek chuckles and Yuri feels the voice rumble within him; hands clutching on his waist to go down as Otabek pulls apart from him to cup his ass. Yuri lets out a little groan of frustration as he feels a finger prodding around his entrance, studying his reaction; he pushes himself against it, feeling it stretching him out slowly, and  clenches his teeth until Otabek inserts his finger up to the knuckle . His cock aches, begging for attention; Yuri moans out loud, hissing at him to make his point clear. 

 

“Do you want me to stop?” Otabek asks in a too low, too husky voice, and Yuri rolls his hips slowly as a fire starts inside of him, more consuming at every wave, from his groin to his limbs, making his head dizzy. He hears a voice,  _ his _ voice, sputtering up profanities in between gasps and meowl and  _ fuck, Beka.  _ Yuri’s heart threatened to shoot out of his chest at the speed it was beating, his vision gone blurry and closed in. He could only see his own panting mess of a reflection with Otabek right next to him, Otabek who and groaned softly at every sound escaping Yuri’s lips. 

Yuri whines when the finger moves back, pouting at the mirror, only to feel it back in, slower this time, as a second one is added. His hand curls in against the mirror, trying to find support as Yuri clenches around Otabek’s fingers, which slide all the way in to curl inside him. Yuri mouths a silent scream as his forehead touches the mirror, as a thunderbolt of sensations shocks his body from the inside out and numbs his senses, as if there’s nothing else in the world but him, and Otabek, and this  _ fire  _ within him, in between them.

He still scoffs at the sight of the couch dripping with cum underneath him, in front of him. Otabek doesn’t yet move away; instead, he comes closer and flicks his tongue on Yuri’s neck to make him purr. “Do you want to stop, Yura?”

“Nh.” Yuri tries to speak his mind but his throat feels dry and hoarse. He rolls his hips slowly, circling wider every time, groaning as Otabek’s fingers brush against his prostate at each swirl, the sudden shock making his dick half hard already. “I want you.” He pulls forward to slam himself back against Otabek’s fingers, his voice a fine thread of what it was. “All of you. Please.”

He watches Otabek take something out of his pocket with his free hand, a tiny bottle of something; Otabek pulls all the way out and Yuri turns, ready to complain about the sudden emptiness he feels. Otabek stands up in front of him, an obvious damp spot right in front of his jeans where his hard-on is pushing forward. His hand is clutching the little bottle, and he hooks a thumb on his waistband, while the other undoes his belt and pants in painfully slow motion. 

Yuri doesn’t notice he’s staring until he feels his tongue running across the edge of his teeth to his lips. Otabek smirks and Yuri knows that smile means he’s won already, but he doesn’t give a shit about losing right now. Not while he’s been invited to a one seat special show, just for him. Otabek pulls his jeans and underpants slowly, his cock jerking up, already glistening with precum; Yuri feels himself growl under his breath. He stares at the vision that is his boyfriend standing before him, his gaze thirsty and his hand around his cock, pumping so slowly Yuri has to force himself to stay in place, to not touch him. That’s not part of the game. 

Yuri sits up when Otabek moves closer, holding his chin up for a kiss, and winces when he feels the bite on his lip. “What did I tell you, Kitten?” Otabek warns, and Yuri whines like a little lost puppy to make him continue. “You truly are a vision, aren’t you?” He smirks. “Go back to your place and stay.” And the hand holding him pushes him down, making him lose balance and sits back against the couch. 

He moves to his previous place: both knees firmly planted on the couch, wide apart, and both hand on the back of it, clutching the upholstery. He looks up and crooks a brow at him, waiting while Otabek removes a small foil package from his hand, and rips it open without saying a word. He lets the bottle fall onto the cushions somewhere, one hand in between them while the other,, traces a warm slick path in between Yuri’s balls to his rim. He tries to keep his mask on and smirk at the mirror as he bites his lip to keep from moaning too loudly. It fails the moment the hand on his body shoots up to grab a fistful of Yuri’s hair and tugs his head back,  which makes Yuri let out a yelp.

Otabek is twitching right at Yuri’s entrance, teasing. “Please.” He begs and Otabek  _ growls _ , his other hand holding Yuri by his waist, pushing himself in slowly, letting Yuri accommodate him. 

Yuri thinks he’s positively gonna burst in flames from the sensation of Otabek filling him in, stretching him out. Every little throb a wave of electricity running inside of him, so overwhelming Yuri would barely even remember his own if it hadn’t been on otabek’s lips, groaned so  _ deliciously _ he can’t just ignore it. 

He moves his hips with Otabek’s soft whispered words. He doesn’t even hear himself repeating the word  _ Please _ in between panted mewls until Otabek  draws back, leaving nothing but the head inside of him

Suddenly, Yuri is pushed forward when Otabek slams all the way inside of him, his back arched  and a grunt hissed through his teeth. Yuri’s heard it, more than once, but is still pleasantly surprised to find out each and every time how  _ loud _ his stoic boyfriend can be yet all he can think about the building pressure inside of him Otabek’s hand so close yet so far from his dick. 

The fist in Yuri’s hair loosens only to run down his top and across his chest, then pulls him up as Otabek thrusts into him. The volume of Yuri’s moans and whimpers and  _ Holy fuck Harder  _ urge Otabek to push himself deeper, faster. 

Otabek moves his hand from Yuri’s waist to his cock to grip him tightly and feels the pressure building up inside of him as he plunges into Yuri’s flesh. Yuri’s certain he’s about to have a heart attack or something--his fingertips start to go numb, his limbs move on their own. He’s lightheaded, half out of his mind as he keeps on fucking himself against Otabek until his eyes roll back in his head, his mouth too hoarse to produce more than a panting mewl every time Otabek jerks his hips back. 

Yuri’s at the edge again, too gone to form the words yet he still puts both hands on the mirror, letting his forehead rest cool against the glass as his hips receive Otabek’s relentless thrusts. Yuri is unable to hold back as he spills himself all over the dirty old upholstery, crying out. Otabek keeps pushing in a few more times as all of Yuri clenches around him, then he is coming inside,his voice a feral growl as he collapses against Yuri, holding him close.

“You’re okay?” Otabek asks almost shyly, his voice a raspy murmur in Yuri’s ear while he cradles his body in his arms. Yuri doesn’t answer, not right away. He holds his boyfriend’s arms around his frame, just enjoying the warmth of skin against skin, he slim little metal chain cool in between them. “Yura?” Otabek repeats.

“I love you.” Yuri gazes at the beautiful man next to him, all sweaty and messy and gone, makeup smeared a heavy black all around his eyes, his hair spiking out in every direction, pupils wide, muscles impossibly tired. The shocks of the afterglow still rushing through Yuri’s body, making him feel like he’s in a less noisy world, a less nosy world, an easier place. Where there’s him and the man he loves and this beautiful thing in between them. All around them. Joining them. Holding them so close. “God, I fucking love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor’s starting to get into her head. Sure, the boys have been gone for a good while, but it’s not like they would get in trouble together, right? And as far as Yuri’s told her, having Otabek around is quite a relief. She flips her ginger curls out of her face again, sipping on her beer while the married couple in front of her continues fondling each other while they talk sweet nonsense. Mila’s sure that they believe they’re talking in quiet voices, but they could not be more wrong. Unlike Yuri, she cannot give less of a shit either. Se’s had to ditch a perfectly good prospect to stay and hear Viktor bitch about how ‘his little boy’ (and holy fuck, she’s doing the air quotes in her head, isn’t she?) is probably getting in trouble, and that his boyfriend just knows  _ so much _ . She can’t roll her eyes at him any further. Really? And he didn’t before Yuuri either?

Still, it’s been a while and they definitely haven’t left: she made Yuri promise to text her if he and Otabek sneak out. He wouldn’t forget. He knows better than to ditch her. 

Mila gets up, her legs wobbly after the vodka and the tequila shots, and the cocktails, and all the dancing. Her mind is, too, but she pulls through. He did say backstage, right? But it was a really poor excuse for a stage to begin with: she cannot imagine what kind of tiny recluded poor ventilated room must the backstage be. And she thought the guy had some standards. 

There’s some people sitting on a step, right in front of the hallway to the restrooms. Which that door above the step clearly cannot be. So. she pushes her way through the drunken dead weights and pushes the door open. The empty corridor makes some sort of a void, engulfing the sound outside; the bass resounds deeply on the walls as if it would all be vibrating. Or maybe it's just her. 

The noises, though: those are most definitely  _ not. _

Mila walks as softly as her stiletto heels allow her. There’s a tired fluorescent light, flickering orange behind the next door through a slit between the door and its frame. She hears the almost rhythmic moan, like a mewl in the air, punctuated by a lower, louder growl in intervals. Like music being made. 

As if Mila doesn’t know better. As if she can’t tell just by the melody. As if she actually  _ needs _ to push the door slightly more ajar, to peek into the reflection on the wall-length mirror. Yet she’d done just that. And they’d heard. 

Well. At least one of them does: Otabek holy-fuck-that-guy-is-hot Altin whips his head around in the direction of the door and she hides behind it as if he hasn’t seen her already, even though she knows he has. It’s obvious, the way he keeps staring. How he holds her gaze, crooking a brow before slamming in and throwing his head back with a loud grunt.

Nope. No. Mila needs to leave. 

She hurries as much as she can in her heels after enough booze to make a whiny filthy, pukey baby out of a perfectly fine grown man and heads back to the table.

She has to tell Viktor.

The kids will be fine. 

Damn, they’ll be  _ just fine. _


End file.
